Holiday Citrus: Clunker Claus
by Rollerwings
Summary: Finn, Holley and Mater surprise the imprisoned Lemons with a Christmas celebration, and the group shares stories around the fireplace. In the latest story, Acer shares the legend of Clunker Claus, an old beater who gives gifts to little Lemons. Warning: he writes poetry at a Vogon level!
1. A Surprise and a Simulation

Rating: K. There's nothing offensive in this, save for a minor naughty word in the "Acer's Crummy Christmas" tale, which was written for my sons and read to them minus that word.  
>Setting: C.H.R.O.M.E.'s secret prison, late December 2011, after the events of <em>Cars 2<em>  
>Summary: Finn, Holley and Mater surprise the imprisoned Lemons with a Christmas celebration, and the group tells stories around the fireplace.<br>Author's Note: _Cars 2_ and all characters are the property of Disney-Pixar. You are free to use any ideas and concepts from this fanfiction in your own work (fanfiction, art, etc.) if you'd like.

* * *

><p>"Don't it just warm yer engine to be deliverin' gifts like Santa Car himself?" Tow Mater asked as he and Holley Shiftwell made their way down the corridors of C.H.R.O.M.E.'s secret prison. Wearing mirror-muffs in a vibrant shade of magenta that complemented her sporty frame, Agent Shiftwell shivered involuntarily and pulled closer to the tow truck. Though Mater spoke with exuberance as though they were bringing presents to grateful children at an orphanage, they were in fact about to distribute gifts to the most callous criminals, ones who had done their very best to ensure their demise barely half a year ago. Sometimes Holley wished she could share Mater's innocent outlook on life, but she had seen too much as a secret agent to still believe everyone had a good side.<p>

Mater grinned down at her from under the brim of his stocking cap, a merry but juvenile piece of headwear that was topped by a red pom-pom and a set of antlers. When Holley had commented on it earlier, her boyfriend had insisted that none other than Mrs. Santa Car herself had knitted it for him a few years back, in gratitude for saving Christmas, of course. Unsure how to respond to that but well aware of his fondness for tall tales, Holley had simply told him it looked stunning and suited him, and Mater, grateful she had not immediately discounted his fantastic story, had just as simply thanked her. It was a true relief that he could be himself now that his friends understood he had never been the sophisticated spy they had initially mistaken him for.

Trying to retain her holiday spirits as they passed the first sterile holding cell with its glowing, electronic bars keeping a quartet of Pacers contained safely inside, Holley expressed hope that the prisoners would appreciate Mater's efforts. There was no sign of the approaching holiday from inside the jail, with its plain steel walls and absolutely no windows to the outside world, for the cells had been built deep within the agency's headquarters.

"Aw, they'd sure better!" exclaimed the tow truck indignantly. "Once Finn put me in charge of plannin' the annual C.H.R.O.M.E. Christmas party, I didn't spare no expense, and I personally picked each gift fer the guys." He rifled through the parcels in his truck bed, using his tow hook to carefully push the wrapped bundles aside. "I got Zundapp another one'a somethin' of his that Finn done busted, fer starters!"

"Do tell me you're not going to exchange gifts in the hallway?" inquired someone, and the couple turned to find their closest friend.

"Finn!" Mater cried, as though he had spotted Santa Car himself. "Aw, c'mon, buddy, you know we couldn't start the party without you."

McMissile chuckled. "Unless Santa Car gave you top-level access to release the prisoners, I would say you didn't have a choice in that matter."

* * *

><p>"I don't mean to be all sour grapes at Christmas time, but this is a weird place to have a party," Acer admitted, peering around the cavernous room where they had been led. He was still dubious about the entire idea. After months of isolation, he had at last come to the conclusion that C.H.R.O.M.E. would have already harshly interrogated him and the others if that had been in their plans, but the sudden announcement of a celebration left him vaguely anxious. Partying with his captors was hardly his idea of fun, not that the oil rig had been known for its holiday festivities either.<p>

"It's a simulation room," his mentor, Professor Zundapp, responded impatiently. "Just another example of technology that was far out of our reach but taken for granted by the agents." He sniffed. "They'll use it to create the illusion of pleasant surroundings, unless my instincts are wrong. Such a waste of resources."

Ignoring the microcar's complaint, Mater ordered an unseen computer to create a classic Christmas scene, and the room around them was brightly illuminated in a flash of light that was soon replaced by the interior of a cozy log-cabin home, complete with Christmas lights strung along the walls and a dazzling tree in the corner. The Lemons explored their new surroundings with distrust, each model type staying with the others of his kind just as they had when they'd been free.

"Strange," breathed Victor Hugo, whose ever-present and faithful aide, Alexander, had guided him to the tree to investigate for himself. "I don't know how you do it, but it even smells like real pine." He extended a tire toward the needles, feeling them jab against his treads. "There's even texture."

Holley chuckled. "We're not about to give away the secrets of our technology, but there will be gifts, courtesy of Mater, and if everyone would like to get comfortable we can park near the fire and share a story or two." Her request was met with astounded silence, for the large contingent of bodyguards, Lemonheads and one very unhappy-looking deep blue tow truck knew very little about mingling.

Just as she was about to dismiss the entire plan as a well-intentioned but bad idea, she heard a pop as Finn opened a bottle of rather high-quality champagne taken from a cart a forklift had wheeled into the room. He casually poured a glass, all eyes focused on the first drink they'd seen in months that wasn't plain water from the municipal supply or decaf octane.

"Cheers, anyone?" he asked, and the festive mood officially began.


	2. Acer's Crummy Christmas

"This isn't my first Christmas I spent in jail, but until today I was thinking this would be the worst, with all of us stuck in prison and nobody caring," Acer admitted, setting down his champagne glass on an end table. He pushed an ornament dangling from the tree, sending the glass globe swaying on its hook. "This isn't that far off from the tree we had when I was a kid. In fact, the last I heard, my dad still puts the thing up every year and I recognize some of these dime-store ornaments." Turning to his closest ally among the Lemons, he asked Grem whether he recalled the year they'd nearly ended their friendship by fighting over a toy.

Grem chuckled. "You said you wanted stories, sports car? I could tell you a good one about that Christmas."

Holley smirked back at him. "That's Agent Shiftwell, or Holley, to you. And he's Mater, not 'tow truck.' That may have been the way you did things on the oil rig, but around here we use our real first names."

The orange hatchback blinked, never having realized before that he referred to just about everyone he didn't like by their model names. Maybe it was a way of distancing them from himself.

"I stand corrected, Holley. Now settle back on your shocks and listen to what I've been putting up with for years now."

* * *

><p><strong>Acer's Crummy Christmas<strong>

_Christmas Morning, 1966 - Kenosha_

A perky green Pacer swerved donuts through the snowy vacant lot at the end of his neighborhood. Weeds poked their heads through the thick layer of snow that had rested on the overgrown lot since early November, and in his impatience the hatchback kicked out a tire at them, pretending they were imaginary enemies. Every shower of frozen snow or snap of a brittle stem was one more victory in his well-developed imagination.

"Take that, _evildoers,"_ he exclaimed with juvenile enthusiasm, his breath warm against the long scarf his mother had wrapped around his entire cab.

"What are you doing?" called out a voice, and Acer eagerly turned to greet his best friend. Finally it would be time for some fun, since Christmas morning had so far been less than exhilarating.

"Fightin' bad guys. Well, didja get it?" he demanded, eyeing the backpack slung over his friend's roof rack.

"Nope, I didn't get the Junior Kiddie Funtime High-Powered Rifle," Grem replied, and the Pacer's face fell. Acer's mother had made no secret of her disapproval of guns - "You'll grow up to become a scofflaw and a violent reprobate!" - so he hadn't held out much hope to find one under the tree. Grem's family was much more permissive, though it struck the Pacer as unfair that his friend, only a year older, got to stay out long after dark, go downtown by himself and hang with a much older crowd of AMCs from their working-class neighborhood while Acer was stuck at home doing homework most days after school. Grem's father let him have saltines and fruit punch for breakfast and he didn't have to bundle up, Acer thought jealously, as he eyed him from under the brim of his Packers stocking cap. It just wasn't fair.

"But I got somethin' better, somethin' from the Sears catalog," Grem added cautiously, shrugging off the backpack and withdrawing a bright yellow plastic toy. "It's a home movie camera," he said excitedly. "Not a real one - my dad doesn't even have one of those, but it came with these reels and-"

"How come you didn't get the thing ya wanted most?" Acer interjected, underwhelmed with the toy Grem apparently treasured.

"Actually, I did want this more," Grem admitted sheepishly. "It was first on my list." Beaming, he carefully fit a reel onto the camera.

"Boy, are you a square," the Pacer growled, unable to contain his disappointment in his friend any longer. "You blew the ONE chance we had between us to get something really cool to play war with, and you asked for some dopey camera instead. Now we're stuck using sticks as guns another whole year. The big kids'll never let us join in now. I hope you're happy."

"Did I mention it also plays cartoons on these little reels?" the Gremlin asked, offering Acer a chance to see for himself. Feigning no interest whatsoever, though this did admittedly increase the play value of Grem's new gift, the green hatchback just continued his scowling.

"Fine. Just for that, you can't be the reporter. I'm already gonna be the cameraman and there's no reason I can't report the news as well," announced Grem, extending an imaginary microphone Acer's way. His toy was just too much fun not to test out right away! "Welcome to the evening news, where we bring you the top stories first," he said, repeating the well-rehearsed introduction he heard every night on the news program his parents watched. "I'm Grem Gridlock and today I'm on location with Acer, who is not having a good Christmas. Tell us, Acer, what did you get this year?"

In all of his nine years Acer had never been so annoyed. Looking directly into the eye of the nonfunctional camera, he stammered his answer.

"I'll tell you what I got, a lousy set of snow tires and a best friend who's a real nerd! You can't blow other cars up with a crappy camera," came his response, complete with a word his mother would have washed his mouth out with soap for using. He pulled away angrily in a spray of snow.

Grem looked down at the tire tracks in the snow after his friend had stormed off. Maybe he shouldn't have led Acer on to believe he was going to ask for the rifle, but he hadn't wanted to listen to his friend's whining about his choice of presents until after the fact, either. He packed the camera and its reels back into his bag and headed home, hoping he could talk his mother into baking a plate of cookies that he could deliver to the Hatchlock family later that day. More than any toy, he wanted to see his friend happy again. Maybe he could talk Acer into interviewing the bad guys instead of shooting at them.

The sight of something leaning against the back porch door made him stop in his tracks. Wrapped in snowflake paper, it was the unmistakable shape of the rifle his friend coveted. The Gremlin picked it up, recognizing the familiar heft of the toy they'd often pestered the shop keeper in town to let them examine closely. He already knew that toy was no longer in the window, for it had somehow made its way here, and it was frigid and covered with a fine dusting of snow, as though it had been there overnight.

_Great, now Acer's going to be even madder that I got_ two _nice presents,_ he thought guiltily, but the paper tag bore his friend's name. Didn't Santa Car know which house was whose?

Whooping with joy, the hatchback tucked the present in his roofrack and scrambled through the snow to find Acer. For certain, his friend's mother would only repeat her concerns that he was a bad influence on his younger friend if she ever found out where the present originated, but this might just be a decent Christmas after all.


	3. Clunker Claus

"That was the best Christmas present ever," sighed Acer, thinking of the toy that was still lovingly tucked in the basement rafters of his childhood home. "Not just the rifle itself, but maybe the way our friendship was salvaged." He regarded Grem for a moment before taking another sip of what had to be luxury champagne even by Finn's standards.

"I doubt I ever did apologize for being a hotheaded little twerp that year," he finally said, scuffing a tire awkwardly on the rough wood floor. To his surprise, the Gremlin's expression softened.

"Aw, that's okay. I guess I can let it go, seeing as I could have been less sneaky about what gift I really wanted most," Grem admitted. He tilted back his glass, finishing the bubbling liquid inside.

"Wonderful," said Finn dryly. "There's no better time than Christmas to make up for past disagreements, and it's such a good thing that Acer's come so far from being hot-tempered and rash and Grem's done being sly and deceitful." He shot a knowing look at the two Lemons.

"Right," joked Acer. "Anyway, every year after that, no matter what kind of sorry presents Santa Car left under our tree, I could always count on finding one more extra-special gift hidden somewhere outside on Christmas morning, just for me."

"Um, Acer?" Grem broke in. "You _do_ know that that was my old man who gave you those things, right? He liked sneaking in a present your parents wouldn't let you have, though I'm not sure whether he did it more out of charity or to annoy your dad. Think about it, that giant squirt gun that ended up getting you suspended in fifth grade? I doubt he saw that one coming, but the megaphone? The slingshot?"

To the Gremlin's surprise, his friend stamped a tire down in protest. "Nope, those couldn't have been from your dad. Good old Santa Car didn't bring them, either." His voice lowered mysteriously. "They came from Clunker Claus, the bearer of gifts to all Lemon children throughout the world." The Pacer smirked at Finn, Holley and Mater while ignoring Grem's eyeroll. "I doubt you ever heard of him, but I know he's real because I even saw him one year. I wrote a poem about the experience."

And with that, Acer, who rather enjoyed the spotlight, pulled out into the center of the room and began to recite the words he'd written down as a youth.

* * *

><p>'Twas the night before Christmas and elsewhere in my home,<p>

My folks had passed out! I was awake on my own.

I'd nailed a spare tire to the mantle with care

In hopes that Clunker Claus soon would be there.

All across town my friends were taking their naps

dreaming of Santa Car, but he's just for saps!

He may bring gifts to cars who do as they should,

but that comes with a catch - you've got to be good!

My hero, Clunker Claus, requires none of that stuff.

If you're a kid and a Lemon then that's fine enough.

He's got something for you if your frame is all worn,

and your engine's been stalling since the day you were born.

And if you've been rotten, you've nothing to fear

'cause you betcha he'll drop by your house this year.

So out on the lawn I heard quite a clatter,

and the squealing of brakes! Just what was the matter?

That Christmastime car with his rusty old chassis

had stalled out on our lawn, all weedy and grassy.

I rushed out the door in a hurry to greet him,

not believing my good luck to actually meet him,

bringing with me some cookies and a roll of duct tape,

In case he needed repairs from his latest scrape.

"Thanks, sonny," he said, fixing up his bent mirror,

"Now tell me, what mischief did you get into this year?"

And then with a grin I told him of all that I'd done:

Mostly good, some bad, the pranks and the fun.

He said I'd done well and that wasn't a joke,

then he whipped out some presents for me and my folks.

All those spare parts lemon cars need to stay on the road:

mufflers, belts, shocks and struts - wow, what a load!

And just when I thought that was all that he had,

he'd brought one last gift for a young Pacer lad.

A toy spy set with lots of neat gear

to share with my best buddy Grem through the year.

Then he wished me Merry Christmas as he rolled on back home,

and that's all there is to my Clunker Claus poem.

* * *

><p>"That's all there is," repeated Vladimir Trunkov in an incredulous whisper. "Is it just me, or did that violate every rule of poetry in just a few short verses?" Beside him, J. Curby Gremlin nodded in agreement. Acer's performance had been enthusiastic and delivered with an almost childlike glee, though he'd plowed clumsily through the uneven stanzas of the poem.<p>

"Let's hope he doesn't quit his day job to become a poet, but it's the thought that counts," the Lemonhead of the Gremlins added.

"His day job? Which is what, stamping out license plates in jail?" Victor Hugo cut in. His aide, Alexander, chuckled at the joke, though it was a point well taken. Their future careers were highly questionable at the moment.

"It's never too late to apologize for something, though, and if that gets the weight off his fenders I'm happy for him," said Tubbs Pacer, who was feeling rather cozy by the fire. Remembering one year where an apology of sorts made his entire Christmas, he found himself ready to share his own story with the others, even if he had started out the evening determined not to let Finn know he might actually be enjoying this celebration.

"I'll start out by saying I don't believe in any of that 'Christmas magic' stuff," he began, addressing the entire party, "but there must be something about the holiday that makes a car want to be a little better. And that's how 'White Pacer Day' must have come about..."

_To be continued_


End file.
